From Me To You [For Andrua]

[Benson Thomas]

Forgive Me

[/u]

[Andrua Thomas]

Making Amends

Andrua was, more or less, fairly miserable. Dragging her feet along the carpeted hall she made odd swirls and patterns, cross-hatches and figure-eights in the floor as she danced tunelessly. She could hear the air-conditioner droning on in the background and the lazy sounds of summer floating in and out of windows. Normally, this was her absolutely favorite time of year.

Usually, she would be endlessly active. Running, playing soccer, swimming, sweating, laughing, gasping, kissing, embracing, teasing. But without Benson, she hadn't really had the heart to do anything. This was different than before because it really was over. They weren't together. She was single and so was he. They weren't "Andrua and Benson" anymore. Not "Ben and Drua," "Bennie and Roo." No, just one "Andrua" and one "Benson." Separate. Each on their own.

And with a depressing thought like that, Andrua glided into her room. Settling onto her bed with a sigh, she reached for her iPod. Flipping through the albums and songs she settled on Alexis on Fire's "Young Cardinals." Sad and mournful but still fairly energetic with a hint of anger; perfect. Once the opening bars flowed through the ear-buds, Andrua rolled onto her stomach and pulled her worn copy of The Great Gatsby from under her pillow, where she always kept it. She flipped to her favorite passage, toward the end when Nick Carraway declared that Jay Gatsby was "worth the whole damn bunch put together." After finishing that short moment, she leafed through the pages, toward her second favorite part, Nick's introduction.

Just before Chapter Five though, something caught her eyes. "T'fuck?" she wondered to herself. Over the years, she had made a few notes in the book; underlined favorite phrases, wrote comebacks when Daisy got exceptionally bitchy, wrote hearts around Nick's name (she had had something of a crush on the narrator in her late teens). But she had never written the volume of words she had seen briefly.

Flipping back through the pages, carefully, she finally located the particular page. Reading the scattered blue ink, she felt a gasp leave her chest. "Oh god," she murmured, putting a hand to her mouth. He had... She tore the ear-buds from her ears, leaping up. She carried the book with her, thumb marking the page, as she stalked off to Benson's room and knocked purposefully on the door.

[Benson Thomas]

There were few things Benson liked in excess. For example, there were the obvious: soccer, cookies, bars, Andrua. Others, which could be less acknowledged, were things like summertime, and that was just what life was delivering to him right now. Lots and lots of warm, but not too warm, easy, light, rolling-along summertime, where he could sit back, shoot the breeze, do nothing. Of course, that was not what he wanted to be doing. He wanted to be up, running, taking in the breeze, not letting it wash over his head. He wanted to be gulping down lemonade after a game instead of water and then jumping into the pool of Biella, followed by Andrua.

His entire body flung itself inward, as if hitting the couch from falling. A ragged sigh left him when he realized he wasn't leaping into a pool--he was sitting on his couch, feet up on the coffee table, waking up from dozing off because he was just so damn bored. Even Liverpool on his television wasn't exciting. They were winning; so what? Happened often enough. And it wasn't even a good game; it wasn't against Manchester or Chelsea or anything. Nothing seemed good enough.

Dragging a hand over his face, he thought about maybe going to make sure she saw the note in his book when his heart leapt out of his chest at the powerful knocking on his door.

"It's open," he called, either too lazy to get up and open it or not really caring who it was, and if they wanted him badly enough, they'd take the liberty of coming in.

[Andrua Thomas]

"It's open."

Andrua took in a breath and pushed the door open. Entering, she closed the door behind herself and took a few steps toward the couch where he was sitting. Blinking, she opened her mouth to talk but found her words gone when she saw him. Crap. Crap, she really should have thought this through better. But, to be fair, she hadn't really expected to go mute upon the site of him.

Closing her mouth, she swallowed, started again. "Hi," she said softly. 'Wonderful, Andrua. A true conversationalist.' Licking her lips, she held up the book open to the page with his writing scrawled over it. "You wrote in my book," she told him plainly.

She wasn't mad at him, not all. Please, she wrote in all her books. A little ink on her pages wasn't a problem to her. But she didn't really know what to say until he acknowledged her presence.

[Benson Thomas]

Had to be a clone. Had to be. Had to be some weird trickery pulled by an inane demon or some shit that he couldn't humanly explain because there was no way in a fuck's shit that that was Andrua coming through his door. Prepared to launch some ammunition of a firearm at her, he sat up straight, then realized how utterly ridiculous that decision would have been. And stupid besides.

"Hi," he returned pointedly, wanting to raise his eyebrow and ask what the hell she was doing back here, because she'd almost knocked him out last time (how long ago was that now?), but once again, thought better of it. Why were all the dumb options coming now? Besides sleeping with Colette, but that was ruled out last time as the Suckiest Decision in the history of sucking.

"You wrote in my book."

"You're in my dorm." Both very obvious points, but both quite relevant. That, and it was the only thing he could come up with while his body recovered from having gone into cardiac arrest and nervous shock.

Blowing out air, he went on, "Any particular reason why?"

No, Ben, he told himself, she only just told you she'd read what you wrote. She just figured she'd come over for tea and scones. Rephrase that.

"I mean...did it bother you?"

[Andrua Thomas]

"You're in my dorm. Any particular reason why?"

Andrua raised an eyebrow at that. No, she had no reason. 'Just the extremely heart-felt and apologetic note that you left in my favorite book.' She blinked once, seeing if he really meant for her to answer that question. Because, well, what did he think she was there for?

"I mean...did it bother you?"

She laughed softly and shook her head. "No. It didn't bother me. It did basically the opposite of bother me." She exhaled slowly and took a few steps toward the couch. Laying the book down to the side, she passed a hesitant glance to him. "I really, really like what you wrote, Benson," she told him sincerely.

Now, how did she say that she just wanted to be with him again, fuck everything else?

[Benson Thomas]

Whoa, really? Blinking, he leaned forward in his seat, turning the television off, not wanting to hear what Andy Gray had to say about the match anymore. He hadn't been listening before, anyway--asleep wasn't exactly a prime state to be listening to sports commentary. Giving a loud huff, he waited to see if she had anything else to say before even considering thinking up a reply.

"I really, really like what you wrote, Benson."

No nickname, yet no acid to her voice. Falling back again, he folded his hands over his chest, flexing his legs in a stretch. "I'm no Shakespeare," he mumbled, admitting that it wasn't the greatest thing he could've written, but it was what had sprung from his fingers in the moment. He couldn't write love sonnets and he couldn't confess his affections through a script about killing himself for her, and he couldn't give a prophetic Biblical passage about love or selflessness, and he couldn't leave her a trail of rose petals surrounded by candles to lead to him, sweaty and nervous. He'd done what he could, which didn't seem like enough.

"But thanks," he added, eyes falling some.

[Andrua Thomas]

"I'm no Shakespeare."

"Well, good," Andrua said jokingly. "'Cause then I wouldn't have no idea what you were trying to tell me." Andrua had sucked at reading Shakespeare in school. Why couldn't the freakin' guy just say exatly what he meant to instead of dancing around with all those 'thy' and 'thou's and everything. But that was neither here nor there.

"I like what you wrote, because I liked what it said." She turned to face him completely. "I... I want to try again..." She shook her head. That wasn't right.

"No, no. I don't want to 'try.' I want...want to do it. I want...us again." She swallowed softly and licked her lips. "Please?"

[Benson Thomas]

His heart fell to his stomach for the second time in a very short span of ((insert however long it's been here)). Releasing his casual pose for a much more attentive one, he brought himself to his feet, almost painfully, as if he was rising to meet his eminent doom. But Andrua said she wanted to try again. Was he hearing her correctly? She wasn't giggling and she wasn't fuming, so for some reason he felt the infinite need to take her seriously.

"You do," he affirmed, not wanting to leave it up to question; not wanting to imply that she should be having second thoughts. He wasn't going to pass this up, let it slip through his fingers. Benson intended to hold onto her this time. No more mistakes, no more foul ups. This was it. His second chance.

"You don't have to say 'please,'" he chuckled, taking a step toward her, releasing his tension inside the laugh. Should he hug her now? could he? kiss her? God, he wanted to kiss her.

[Andrua Thomas]

"You do."

She swallowed, nodding. It wasn't really a question, but she didn't want to leave anything open at this point. "I really, really do," she affirmed. She couldn't look at him then, for some reason. Because some stupid insecurity in her made her think there was a possibility that he wouldn't want to. Wouldn't want her anymore. There was a hoarseness to her voice. She wasn't quite on the verge of tears but it was getting close. Because she wanted this, him. So, so bad.

"You don't have to say 'please.'"

She looked up, hope flaring within her. "I don't?" She licked her lower lip, nervous. "You want..." And then she thought, to fuck with words, and rose, moved to him. Didn't wait, didn't think, just pressed against him and kissed him like she had been wanting to since this whole thing happened. She wrapped an arm around his shoulders, holding him against her.

And god, it felt so fucking good. She had missed this, missed him so, so much. This... This felt like coming home all over again.

[Benson Thomas]

Every victory slur was running through his head at that point, before he had her in his arms, while he held her, he didn't want to think about after because it would never happen. He would always, always have her. Though his own insecurities hadn't fully dwindled away, he knew he didn't have to make any sort of vow to her. He'd never fuck with perfection again.

Her taste reminded him that he had had the good life. Whatever had gone through his head that had made him doubt that had vanished long before.

His hands in the crevice curves of her waist wasn't enough. He swooped his arms around her and all but tried to weld their bodies together. Tangling his fingers in her short, choppy hair was like exploring the jungle he'd missed; desired for way too long.

Now where did this leave them? From where did they pick up? Dating? Were they still engaged? Or would he have to work to regain the trust that came with the title of "fiancee," let alone "husband." Drawing a blank, unsure of where she stood; where they stood together, he forced himself to release her mouth, but only so they could talk without their words being mushed by lip contact.

"Hey," he called to her, whispering. "I love you."

[Andrua Thomas]

Her fingers skipped every inch of skin she could find: the back of his neck, the sides of his face, over his arms... She had been deprived of touching him for so long. She never wanted to miss this feeling again. She never wanted to reach out and not be able to feel him beneath her hands.

He pulled her closer, tighter, and she had no argument against it. Both her arms were around his neck now, pulling her as close to him as she could possibly manage. God, she could stand there kissing him forever and a day. And they could work everything out later, she just never wanted to not be kissing him ever again.

And then, by the cruelest of cruel fates, he pulled away; broke the kiss. All she let him get out was a whispered "Hey." before she was claiming his lips again, kissing deep. One of her hands combed up through his hair before she separated their lips again, resting her forehead against his. "I love you." Letting out a bracing sigh, she burrowed her face into the crevice of his collarbone.

"I love you back," she countered, shuffling her feet so her toes rested over his. She wanted to be connected to him in everyway possible. It was like she was some worn-out electronic device and he charging her battery. She wanted to recharge herself entirely with Benson. "I missed you," she breathed against the skin of his neck, closing her eyes lightly.

[Benson Thomas]

Missed what part of him, though? what stage? Her head flew up again to meet his mouth. His hands clenched, holding in a gentle grip the back of her neck and her waist, keeping her secure, beside him. "I know this may kind of ruin where we are, but," he murmured, "where do we go from here? Same place we left off? I don't wanna make it seem awkward or forced or whatever, but..." His eyes swooped to the side like a kite diving into a spiral, but lifted back up once he shrugged. "I kind of need to know."

After all, she wasn't wearing the ring. She'd only said she missed him, but she loved him. Holy Christ, sne loved him, and how could he ever compete with that, or even equalize? Benson wanted to know if just saying it was enough to compare with how she said it. Would she even believe him after...?

Folding her into his arms, he rested his head on the crown of hers as he felt her breath tingle against his neck.

[Andrua Thomas]

"I know this may kind of ruin where we are, but, where do we go from here? Same place we left off? I don't wanna make it seem awkward or forced or whatever, but... I kind of need to know."

She sighed, nodding. It was a valid question, really. Were they back at the beginning? Or did they just pick up where they had left off? She didn't want to lose anymore time with him, didn't want to waste it pretending they weren't at the exact same place they had been. Well...mostly. Maybe they should just talk it out...

"Well, let's see," she hummed, keeping herself against him. "I still want to marry you. I still want to be your wife; to have you as my husband." She pulled from him then, meeting his eyes. "We were going to have a decent length engagement anyway. If we need to extend it further we can do that. But first."

She took his hand, led him to sit on the couch. Once they were seated, she curled up against his side. Partly because she wanted to stay as close to him as possible and partly because she wasn't sure she would want to meet his eyes when he gave his answer. "But first," she repeated. "Do you think you can...tell me why?" Not so much why he slept with Colette; she knew that, he was drunk. "I mean, why you got drunk."

She sighed, continuing, her fingers playing softly at the base of his neck over his collar. "You don't drink, Ben, like ever. So what was going in with you that you got drunk enough to," she swallowed, "do that."

She wasn't so much concerned with it happening again; Benson had learned his lesson she thought. She was more worried about what he had been feeling, what had been wrong. She was concerned for him.

[Benson Thomas]

He couldn't honestly say that he was surprised, because he'd kept his focus on hearing something of that nature, so he hadn't let his mind think of anything but that. If this had been anything different, he probably would have spiraled into another downfall. "Wait," he stopped her, backing away half a step. "First, what?"

They collapsed on the couch, he pulled her next to him but it wasn't like he needed to urge her toward him. She seemed to slip nearer to him anyway. His teeth felt it was necessary to pierce his bottom lip when she interrogated him. "I, uh..." Stammering for an answer--why had he gotten drunk?--he tried to choke something out.

"Cause..." This wasn't going to help anything. To say he was nervous? He sounded like the Lawrences. Benson's stomach rumbled and he choked, "I didn't know what else to do. Everybody was having babies and it just got me thinking, 'What're we gonna do when we have kids, too?' I mean, we're getting married. I would think it's kind of bound to happen, right? I just...don't think I'd be a good father, so I was thinking about it a lot, and I needed a sedative. I wasn't even thinking about it. Colette offered me a drink, and it sounded good, so I didn't exactly refuse."

[Andrua Thomas]

"Cause... I didn't know what else to do. Everybody was having babies and it just got me thinking, 'What're we gonna do when we have kids, too?' I mean, we're getting married. I would think it's kind of bound to happen, right?"

Right. Definitely. She wanted kids... Didn't... Didn't he? Did he not want to have kids with her or something? Shit, why hadn't they talked about these sort of things before getting engaged.

"I just...don't think I'd be a good father, so I was thinking about it a lot, and I needed a sedative. I wasn't even thinking about it. Colette offered me a drink, and it sounded good, so I didn't exactly refuse."

"Not be a good father?" she asked, disbelieve coloring her tone. "Ben, how can you even say that?" Her brow furrowed and she considered that. How could he think that? She knew he would be a great father. He loved so fiercely and spectacularly, usually going out of way to make her happy and comfortable as if it was second nature. Their child would have the best home life, between his caring and her care-free...

She cuddled closer, nuzzling her face against his chest. "I believe in you. I have every faith that you'll be a great husband, a fantastic father. I really don't have any doubt. And even if I did, well... I'm gonna be there too. I'm gonna be there to help you, you know. Because we're getting married so that's a partnership, right? We gotta help each other out. Like a wingman and their half-back." She grinned. Of course it was a soccer metaphor. What else would it be between them.

[Benson Thomas]

"Very easily," he retorted hotly, trilling his fingers against the armrest of the couch in frustration as he blurted again, "I'm not gonna be a good father." Though this time it was buried underneath his breath, as if her being incredulous had turned down the heat of his judgement. Fear combined with lack of desire was probably clouding that judgement to begin with, since he knew he wasn't ready to give up what he and Andrua had to a child yet. Why was it so hard for him to believe that they weren't going to have a baby for a while?

And why wasn't having Andrua's faith enough for him?

"Right, partnership," he muttered, a little more of that bold confidence back in his voice. Benson cracked a smile that he tried to suppress before he snuggled her closer, pressing his lips to her head. "Exactly. You're my wingman," he threw a tease at her--wasn't about to give up the best position, even though it technically was hers.

[Andrua Thomas]

"I'm not gonna be a good father."

Andrua pulled from her comfortable position to look at his face. Meeting his eyes steadily, she spoke clearly, making sure he knew she was dead serious. "Bennie. You are not often wrong. It is a very, very annoying trait that you posses, but you are not often wrong. This time, though? One hundred and fifty-nine percent incorrect. That's what you are. Possibly One hundred and seventy-two, I haven't done all the math."

Tipping forward, she dropped a soft kiss to his lips. "You're gonna be a great father. I know this, no question. You're gonna be great because you always think of me before you and you'll do the same for the kid. And you're always making sure I'm safe, but never in a way so that I feel patronized or infantilized. And because, and this is most important so listen up: Because you will love that little thing more than me and yourself and futbol and Luca Toni all put together. That is why you, Benson Thomas, will be a fantastically wonderful father."

She cuddled back up close to him after that. Pressing her ear to his chest, she felt the vibrations move through his vocal chords as he spoke. "Exactly. You're my wingman." She pulled from him a little at that, eyebrow raised. "Excuse me? You are my wingman. We all now I'm the halfie here. You ain't got the stamina for my position," she teased, meaning every ounce of innuendo in her words. Dropping another light kiss to his lips, she settled back against him once again, fingers starting a gentle rhythm through his hair, over his scalp.

[Benson Thomas]

Lies, all lies, but he swallowed them whole. He'd get over it eventually. "More than Luca Toni?" he snorted, putting his feet back up and stroking her hair, rubbing the ends between his fingers and letting them go after a gentle tug. "We'll have to see about that. I mean, where do you think I go all the time when I'm not here? I can teleport, if you forgot." Jolting his brows up, he realized how strange that made him feel and kissed her forehead, not as if to reassure himself, but to regain some of the testosterone he probably just lost out of his ass saying that.

"Hey," he snapped coolly, "who gets it in the air?" Holding his hand out with his wrist bent down, he raised it ninety degrees in a lame attempt at a mime. "Me. Therefore, I get it out to the wings, over the opponent's head. So there. I win." With that, he burrowed his face into her neck, splaying kisses over her collarbones.

"I got stamina, love. And I got the moves."

[Andrua Thomas]

Andrua giggled at his homoerotic statement. Shaking her head, she accepted the kiss to her forehead. "Please never make a joke like that again," she requested through chuckles. "It just... It gives me far too much to worry about." Grinning wryly, she tightened her arms around his waist, snuggling close to his shoulder.

She listened to Benson's claim with an incredulous look on her face, one eyebrow raised. Once she had gotten over the bout of laughter induced by his ticklish kisses, Andrua launched right into things. "Excuse me. You are a striker. You just fucking stand there and wait for the half-back --that would be me-- to set up your shot. And then you just pop it into the goal and take all the glory. But at the end of the game, we all know who the realy heroes are. The half-backs." Andrua ended her little schpeel with a cheeky grin and a tilt of her head. "So you can just stick that in your juicebox and suck it!"

Folding her arms satisfactorily, she smiled up at him and added, "And you might have the stamina and the moves. But my stamina's stronger and my moves are smoother." She fell into soft laughter at that, dropping a few kisses over her own over his jawline. She had missed this. She had missed just sitting here, joking and talking football with him.

And God did she love him.